


Cold Feet

by TheLovelyOrchid



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Gen, Jacques Schnee is an asshole, Useless Lesbian Weiss Schnee, Whitley is also an asshole but he’s a kid so he’s not that much of an asshole, almost acts like a good brother, he like, im sorry i just love the schnee kids and i cant make him bad dont @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 19:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLovelyOrchid/pseuds/TheLovelyOrchid
Summary: As the breakfast stretches on in slightly awkward silence with only the clanking of silverware to puncture it, Whitley nearly asks his sister why she’s barefooted himself. However, their father beats him to it.-Weiss isn’t wearing her slippers, Jacques makes it a much bigger deal than it needs to be, and Whitley just wants to have his breakfast in peace.





	Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

> I know Whitley is a slimy little snake in cannon but he’s also just a kid and has been raised by a stinky bastard while his older sisters get to leave their little prison so let me love all the Schnee kiddos okay I can’t help it.
> 
> This takes place during like a break at Beacon or something sometime before the fall idk just enjoy this little story thank you.

Whitley sits at the table, waiting somewhat patiently for his sister to accompany him and their father for breakfast. Finally, and hopefully before the food has gone cold, Weiss enters through the doorway, in all her bare-footed glory.

“Good morning, Weiss,” their father greets as she takes her seat at the table.

“Good morning, father.”

As the breakfast stretches on in slightly awkward silence with only the clanking of silverware to puncture it, Whitley nearly asks his sister why she’s barefooted himself. However, their father beats him to it.

“Weiss?”

Weiss pauses in her eating for a moment, placing down her silverware and giving her father her attention. “Yes, father?”

“Why aren't you wearing your slippers? It's improper for a young lady to walk around barefooted.”

Weiss looks to her feet, as if she's only just realized she isn't wearing anything on them. Her cheeks turn pink. “Oh, sorry. I guess I've just gotten used to not wearing them…”

Their father quirks an eyebrow. “Did you not take them with you to that school?”

Weiss removes her hands from the table and to her lap, staring at them instead of her father. “Well, not exactly…”

“Well, out with it then. Don't give me cryptic sentences, you're not a child,” their father says sternly. “And look at me when I'm speaking to you.”

Weiss looks up from her hands. “Yes, father. I'm sorry.”

The silence that falls over the table is considerably more tense than it was previously as their father waits for Weiss’ response.

“One of my roommates at Beacon was, uh, a bit more… eccentric than most.” Weiss pauses, and Whitley can see the smallest of smiles pull at the corners of her mouth. Whitley looks to their father. He doesn't seem to notice. “She liked to ‘borrow’ my slippers in the morning. ‘But Weiss, my feet are cold. Don't you care about my feet? I'm your best friend!’”

The look their father gives her seems to remind Weiss that imitating people is horribly improper. She straightens in her seat and clears her throat. “And that's the story, I suppose.”

Whitley places a bit of food in his mouth to hid the grin he's wearing. He thinks he's onto something.

“Well, go up to your room and retrieve them, please,” their father says, returning to his breakfast.

Weiss’ cheeks turn bright red this time, and Whitley stifles a giggle, because his sister is actually full-on blushing.

“I may have, um… given them to her,” Weiss says unsurely, chancing a look at their father.

“You gave away your slippers?” He looks at her in disbelief.

“Well, more like she stole them, but that sounds a lot more violent than it really is,” Weiss rambles nervously, and their father sighs in what sounds a lot like exasperation.

This time Whitley has to shove more food into his mouth (which makes it sound much more barbaric than it actually is) to stop himself from bursting into laughter right there. Whitley and his sister may not get along very well or even speak very often, but even he can tell that she is hopelessly wrapped around this girl’s finger.

“Go to your room,” their father orders.

“But father, I-”

“I said go to your room!” He slams his fists on the table, and the jumbling of dishes and silverware seems to silence the entire room.

“Yes, sir.” Weiss makes to get up from the table, but Whitley stops her.

“Father, it’s just a pair of slippers. There's no need to get so worked up,” Whitley says, and the other occupants of the table look slightly stunned.

However, his father’s face quickly turns from stunned to a glare and Whitley exults a great amount of effort to keep from shrinking into himself. But he stands by what he’s said. It is just a pair of slippers, it isn't like they couldn't have a few hundred pairs made and delivered in the span of an hour.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but sister doesn't visit very often. It would be a shame if we didn't sit down to breakfast with her when we so seldom see her,” he continues. And even though he knows he will probably regret it later, Whitley refuses to look away from his father’s (rather intimidating) gaze.

By some miracle, his father concedes and silently gestures for Weiss to take her seat once again. If it wasn't before, the atmosphere is most definitely tense now, and they finish breakfast in absolute silence.

Whitley looks to his sister, who has her eyes trained on her food but looks up to meet his, as though somehow sensing he is looking at her. She holds his stare for a few seconds before looking away again. He looks away too.

Later that night, when Weiss is hissing into her scroll at Ruby, who on the other line is most definitely wearing the alleged slippers, she doesn't mention her brother’s unusual kindness. And just down the lengthy hallway, as Whitley faces the rather exaggerated wrath of his father, he can't bring himself to really mean it when he apologizes.

So if his sister thinks that he was being uncharacteristically nice to her, she doesn't say a word. And if he was, well, he can just write it off as a part of the façade he wears when he knows he's going to become heir. At that moment, though, he doesn't know that. But he won't say anything about that either.


End file.
